


Resume

by astraplain



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraplain/pseuds/astraplain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorothy Parker had it wrong... or not</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resume

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by the poem, "Resume" is by Dorothy Parker. One of my earliest stories in this fandom.

Resume by Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;  
Rivers are damp;  
Acids stain you;  
And drugs cause cramp.  
Guns aren't lawful;  
Nooses give;  
Gas smells awful;  
You might as well live.

 

Resume 1 - Casey

 

Dorothy Parker had it wrong.

The pain of a razor is nothing compared to being betrayed. Or violated. Hated. Stares that strip you and laughter that cuts deep and leaves you bleeding.

The dampness of a river would be soothing, unlike the brutal torment of tears pressed hard against eyelids, breaking free in the middle of the night. There's an endless supply of them, shameful glittering shards that drown you even as your throat tightens, closing off air and reason, tearing sounds from your weakened body.

Acid stains can mark surfaces but despair eats away from the inside, leaving only a shell. Hollow. Nothing. All that's left of me. As if that creature took me with her when she died.

Drug cramps would be preferable to the painful icy fear that clenches deep in the gut. I can't keep food down, can't sleep for the pain and trembling. The nights are long, and my brain fills the time with memories and images I don't want. Taunts me with what I can't have. The vision of perfection she gave to everyone, but not to me. They hate me for taking it away. I hate them for having had it.

Guns aren't lawful, but Zeke has one. He'd give it to me if I asked. He might even join me if invited. He's the only one who comes close to understanding. I see his eyes; how he looks at the others, wanting. It's like an addiction, the desperate need. The hell of it is that we did this to ourselves; denying ourselves the pleasure to save the others. So that they could hate us. So that we could hate ourselves.

Nooses can slip, but if you're high enough, the drop will do the job. Maybe Zeke would give me one of his special blends. I could be flying all the way down, touching the clouds even as I hit the pavement.

Gas stinks, but not like the stench of fear. I reek of it now, always. It's as permanent as the marks on my face, the ones that the creature left just before I killed it. The marks only I can see. I tried scratching at them, clawing away the skin until I bled, but I could still feel the marks. Scarred for life, however long that happens to be.

You might as well live? Maybe. Problem is, this isn't living.

*****

Resume 2 - Zeke

 

Dorothy Parker was right.

The question is, how do I convince Casey? How many locks and hiding places will it take to make him safe from himself?

I played poor abandoned waif and convinced his parents to let him stay with me for a while, telling them I didn't want to be alone in this big house with my parents off in South America somewhere. As if I had a clue where they really are.

They were quick to agree, almost relieved to have some time to themselves. To not have Casey around as a reminder. If only they hadn't been so happy about it.

He went right to the lab when we arrived. Not sure if he was looking for the gun, some scat or maybe just a convenient piece of broken glass. Something pretty and deadly; that would appeal to Casey.

I'd cleaned up all the wreckage of course, and locked away the gun. The scat was gone, the ingredients disposed of. I'd even vacuumed to make sure nothing dangerous remained.

Casey's smart, though, and creative. I suspect he can find death in a thousand things that I don't even notice.

He didn't say anything, just walked over to the couch and sat down, his hands absently sliding along the fabric, back and forth, like petting a cat. But his eyes, I could see him searching, studying each object in the room, weighing its potential and committing it to memory or rejecting it.

My hands ached to touch him, to grip his arms and shake his small body until he could see past the blackness. Until he felt something other than pain. If only I could hold him and make him feel safe.

He walked away in silence. I followed him from the lab into the house, trying to see through his eyes, to assess the perils in everyday objects.

The razors were locked away with the kitchen knives, all the ropes and ties were hidden, all the caustic chemicals and drugs - even aspirin were disposed of.

What was left?

I'd spent frantic hours putting locks on all the cabinets and closets. Had moved everything breakable into my parents' locked bedroom. Even put safety covers over electrical outlets and tied up long cords.

It wasn't nearly enough.

I have to find some way to make him want to live. Help him feel something other than pain and despair. Make him alive again.

I have to.

If I can't, how can I save myself?

*****

Resume 3 - Stokely

 

I've read some Dorothy Parker. Enough to recognize "Resume" at least.

I laughed it off when Casey asked me about it, wondering what I thought of that particular poem. If he didn't look so bad, I might not have thought much about it. But how could I ignore those hollow eyes and the scratches on his face?

It doesn't mean much to most people; everyone's used to seeing Casey battered and bruised. Most of them don't care anyway; he gets beat up all the time and always picks himself up and keeps going.

I just wish I hadn't looked into his eyes.

See, he saved me, Zeke, Stan - all of us. I know that. I remember him coming back for me when the creature dragged me into the pool. I also remember him holding me afterwards, soft and comforting but strong.

He's stronger than any of us.

He has to be, though, or he wouldn't get out of bed in the morning to face all the humiliation and abuse. And the hell of it is that he's sort of nice, not mean, or bitchy or a whiner. A guy shouldn't get racked into the flagpole for being nice.

Stan feels kind of bad about that night, when he was taken by the creature; how he tried to get to us. He says he doesn't remember very much about being under the creature's influence but I can tell he's lying. Maybe to himself more than me, but he's still lying. I know because I remember every second of it - how it felt.

How it hurt when it was gone.

It didn't register at first, I was just so happy to be alive, but later, when I was finally alone in my room - I haven't cried since I was 8, but that night I couldn't stop. My whole body was shaking and I was sobbing so hard I thought I'd be sick.

I wonder if that's what withdrawal is like.

I'm pretty good at covering it now, pretending things are normal. I spend a lot of time with Stan, so that helps.

But I think about it a lot...

I can understand why people blame Casey, though. It's so much safer to be angry at him than to accept the fact that you *want* to be controlled; manipulated like a puppet by some creature out of a science fiction book.

I just don't think Casey's strong enough to take it, though. Not anymore. Not physically. Not mentally.

He was too weak to hold his camera yesterday. I saw him lift it with shaking hands, watched as it almost fell. He just held it on his lap for a while, his head bowed, and then he put the camera away in his bag.

He sat there until Zeke came for him and took him home.

I watched them until they drove away; couldn't take my eyes off Casey.

I still can't shake the feeling that it's the last time I'll ever see him.

*****

Resume 4 - Stan

 

Stokely read me the poem, the one Casey's been talking about. I forget who wrote it.

It was all right, I guess. I didn't really like it.

See, I had a cousin - I didn't know her all that well, really, and no one talks about her now. She killed herself last year. Nobody can figure out why; she was kind of pretty, had friends, always got good grades.

One day, just like that. Gone.

All the adults went crazy afterwards; her parents, my parents, all the aunts and uncles. Everyone thinks that she tried to warn us - that she gave us signs that she needed help - but no one got it until it was too late.

I don't know either way. Seems to me that it's all guessing, and doesn't really make much difference now.

I can't help wondering if this poem is Casey's way of asking for help. Stokes seems to think so. Zeke does too, from what I can tell.

Zeke's really different from what I expected. He's really smart, and not so intimidating after all. I know that he's doing everything he can for Casey, that he's looking after him, trying to help him get past everything that happened.

It just doesn't seem to be enough.

It's pretty clear that Zeke has issues of his own to deal with. Maybe it's just the responsibility of caring for Casey, but I'm not sure.

I watched him at lunch today, sitting out in the bleachers with Casey trying to get the kid to eat something. Casey is looking really thin, and even paler than usual. I don't think he's been eating much since he killed the creature. He seems almost frail where before he was just skinny.

Stokely seems really worried about him, and about Zeke. She won't talk to me about it but I think she's afraid for herself too.

Funny thing is - all that stuff with the creature just doesn't seem to bother me as much as it does the others. Sure, it was nice and everything, not having anything to worry about. But then, you didn't have any free will either, no control, no way to make your own choices. That might be pretty attractive to some people, but I'd much rather mess up on my own than have someone tell me what to do all the time.

I think that's why I wanted off the team so bad. I didn't want to be given things just because I could play football. Maybe that's what helped me; I'd already chosen.

Still, whenever I think about it, how good it felt to be part of the group... well, I can understand why people would be tempted by it, and be angry that it was taken away from them. And Casey's an easy target. Always has been.

Sooner or later they'll come around and realize that he saved them, realize that they're better off this way. For Casey's sake, I hope it happens soon.

Maybe I'll talk to Delilah about doing an article for the school paper or something. Don't know that it will do any good, but it might be worth a try.

*****

Resume 5 - Zeke

 

I threw the Dorothy Parker book away. I would have burned it but I got rid of all the matches.

Doesn't matter, really, since Casey has that poem memorized, but it felt good. And it was safer than doing what I wanted to do - put my hands around his neck and shake some sense back into him.

I had to leave the house for a while; went for a long drive, playing music as loud as I could and screaming along with it until my throat hurt. It wasn't until I got home that the panic hit.

I'd left Casey alone.

There were no lights on in the house and I was almost afraid to turn them on. Calling his name I finally flipped the switch and started towards the guest room.

A soft sound stopped me halfway and I turned around. The last thing I expected to see was Delilah.

She told me Casey was asleep and led me towards the family room where the muted television provided the only light.

Casey was curled up on the sofa, under a quilt. I watched him for a minute, reassuring myself that he was breathing before gesturing for Delilah to follow me to the kitchen.

The sight of a half-eaten pizza stopped me cold. Had he...? She gave me a small smile and a nod and I could have kissed her right then. Casey had eaten.

She seemed to know what I was thinking because she gave me a look before stepping past me and picking something up off the table.

It was an advance copy of the latest edition of the school newspaper, to be distributed the following Monday. Casey's photo was on the front page right under a headline that proclaimed him a hero.

I almost laughed.

Instead, I searched her eyes, her face, looking for some sign of the usual Delilah, the one that did everything for the sake of her precious image. What I found was something different. She was still wearing her glasses rather than contacts, and her hair was pulled back carelessly, some of the strands having slipped loose. Makeup, of course, but not the kind that made her look like a perfect mannequin, just enough to look nice, although it was a bit smudged around the eyes.

She looked away, her eyes sliding away from mine and her shoulders hunching a bit, as if she wanted to shrink.

I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. I thanked her, my voice rough after all the screaming in the car earlier.

She told me that she'd spent some time talking to Casey, although he hadn't really said much. That she'd brought the pizza and the newspaper to try and cheer him up. He'd refused the food at first, but she dared him to eat, finally promising a kiss if he did.

Casey might be depressed but he's not stupid.

I fixed her some coffee and we sat in the kitchen and talked for a while, until Casey came out and joined us. He was rumpled from sleep, but looked a little better for having had some food.

I could have cried when he ate another slice of the pizza.

There were still shadows in his eyes. One pizza and a newspaper weren't going to cure all ills, but for the first time in two weeks I thought I could sleep without wondering if he'd be alive when I woke.

And I finally knew I'd be alright.

*****

Resume Reprise - Stokely

 

I gave Casey a book of Ogden Nash poetry. The poems are funny and a sometimes weird. Seemed appropriate for Casey now that he's getting better.

I watched him and Zeke yesterday. Casey had his camera out and actually took a few photos before class. He was smiling that funny half-smile at something Zeke said and he wasn't quite as pale as he'd been.

Lots of people read that article about him in the school paper. Delilah did a nice job on it, not her usual style of tabloid journalism at all. She even mentioned Zeke and me. Never thought I'd see that happen.

Stan says she's not really that bad, that she just acts that way because she thinks she has to. I'll take his word for it, I guess, but I don't think I'll be joining her fan club anytime soon.

Still, she is being nice to Casey.

I saw them at lunch today, their heads together, whispering. She was making Casey laugh between feeding him off her tray.

It was kind of sickening, actually, but if it's helping Casey, who am I to complain.

Stan looked kind of unhappy, though, so I dragged him off to the library and made him check out some Asimov. I almost suggested he try "The Puppet Masters" but even I couldn't read that right now.

I still have those dreams sometimes, although they don't seem to bother me as much. Stan finally admitted that he's had some pretty bad nights too, but that it was getting better. I guess the whole thing will fade eventually, until we barely think about it.

That will be ok.

It's like Casey's the key to this, that he's the one going to save us now like he did when he killed the alien. For a while it seemed like he wasn't going to make it, that we'd lose him, and probably lose ourselves as well. But Casey's strong. He's getting better. So now it's ok for us to get better too.

It won't ever be completely gone, though; it was too close a thing to hope for that.

I saw Zeke in his car a few nights ago, just sitting there. It looked like he might be crying. I wanted to go to him, to say something, but I had no idea what I should say. I just stood there, watching, then walked away.

I think... I think if I saw him now, like that. I might go to him anyway. Even if I didn't know what to say. Just to be there for him. Maybe touch him. Human contact.

We went to all the trouble of surviving; we might as well live.

::end::


End file.
